


Medium

by deliriouslyshipping



Series: T'Cherik Drabbles [10]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Angel T'Challa, Demon Erik, a nice happy medium, yes they have sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 02:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriouslyshipping/pseuds/deliriouslyshipping





	Medium

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Erik snarls, burning under the touch of T’Challa. His instincts tell him to stab the man, rip his head off, anything his sadistic mind can come up with. Yet the heat of T’Challa’s touch is nothing compared to the heat in his veins, his burning desire thrumming under his pulse point. The angel’s wings flap once, cooling the air, as if he knows. T’Challa hums, keeping his hands right where they are on his scarred hips. 

“Language and patience, N’Jadaka,” Erik laughs at the use of his real name, something he is not quite used to hearing. The irony of wanting nothing more than your naturally sworn enemy to lay you down and give you a reason not to kill him over and over again makes all of the touches all the more better. T’Challa swoops and brushes their lips together, then bites. Hard. Erik groans at the pain of his bite and the angel swipes to soothe the sting. Their lips connect fully and heaven meets hell straight in the middle. It surprises Erik how much this so right, despite the actual wrong of this. He hates that he wants to know if T’Challa feels the rightness of this situation or is he just a secret sin to be kept from God. Erik scoffs aloud because who can hide anything from God? 

Erik’s wings retract into his suit and back into his skin, finding no real use for them in this setting. T’Challa makes effort of unbuttoning his suit. Slowly. 

“Hurry the fuck up.” He is nearly on the point of begging. The feeling of their skin touching, the sensual burn of his skin and the accelerated high he feels off of the presence of an angel himself, who grabs his face roughly. His eyes glow gold around the edges of the iris. 

“You will stop your cursing or I will go slower.” The demon part of Erik wants to challenge it, curse until he cannot think of another way to use each word, but he wants T’Challa. He hates how much he is willing to cooperate for some angel dick (I mean, it must be heavenly, right?). N’Jadaka settles to just keep his mouth shut, unwilling to cause T’Challa to go slower because this is honestly as torturous as-

Erik’s thought is cancelled with T’Challa cool mouth on his skin, kissing bare skin in the moonlight. The angel’s mouth drags up and hits home at the neck, sucking on the skin as if he can claim Erik. Erik’s head tilts away, allowing as much room as possible. In the midst, he reaches down to undo his pants, but when T’Challa blows on the mark on his neck, his claws cuts through his fabric. He growls and cuts the rest of his pants with a sharp nail, careful not to touch T’Challa. 

T’Challa leans way and places a perfect palm on his chest, lightly pushing him backwards. Erik falls onto the mattress and watches, propped on his elbows, as the saint carefully removes his clothing.  
“Does it bother you?” 

“Does what bother me?” T’Challa replies on his third button down his shirt. He barely takes notice that his wings have retracted as well. 

“You’re about to f-have intimacy with someone you are either supposed to kill or run from.” T’Challa removes his shirt, without reply, and slips out of his suit pants easy. Erik is low key jealous, but then the angel is all over him, hovering nicely above his body.

“I could ask you the same thing, N’Jadaka.” 

“My purpose is to reek of chaos and ruin others. I think I am still doing my job,” Erik shrugs. A shocked gasp resounds when T’Challa pulls him dangerously close, their entire bodies molding into one another. 

“My purpose is to reek of hope and help others. I believe I am still doing my job as well.” A protest lies on N’Jadaka’s lips, stopped by the rejoining of their lips. Erik grinds up to T’Challa to seek more, always more. T’Challa places a palm over the middle of stomach and pushes down, commanding that he stays still without a word, and he complies. As a reward, T’Challa grips his inner thigh, venturing upward to remove the curtain between his dick and the world. 

It dawns heavily on how much Erik wants this. Wants T’Challa. He gave up so much power already and handed it over to the angel happily. Erik reaches and grabs the back of his lover’s neck and tugs him back to his lips. 

“Please,” and he can feel the angel smile against his lips, very much pleased by the confession that he cannot take much more of doing nothing. T’Challa lets Erik suck on his fingers, then pushes one finger in and Erik takes it greedily. 

“Look how good you’re being.” Erik’s eye shine red in the praise, but he squeezes them shut. “Let me see it, Erik. Open you eyes.” The free hand of the angel grabs at his face and he does. His eyes open and everything becomes clearer under the revealing of his minuscule change. T’Challa is simply perfect, eyes unable to find a flaw within him, whereas Erik is anything but. Another digit breaches him and he makes a small sound at the invasion, but accepts it nonetheless. 

T’Challa continues to shower praises and it's bittersweet. The demon in him can just take whatever is given, no matter the pain, and the angel knows that, but yet he takes his time, opening him up slowly and soaking in the sounds Erik makes. 

Erik’s claws come out again and he accidentally rips the sheets beneath him. T’Challa takes it as the sign to stop and he removes his fingers, using the leftover liquids on his fingers to lube himself up. Erik is ready. God, he is so ready (irony). 

The burn does not cease, only enhancing when T’Challa sinks inside of him. Their hands are intertwined at the headboard of the bed and if his talons cut through his hand, T’Challa shows no pain of it. 

It is not dangerously slow like he had expected, but it is not the roughness that he wants either. It is somewhere right in the middle, not what he wants or expect, but what he needs. It shocks Erik that the pair is so coherent, so perfect placed together, despite their completely different sides of the righteous spectrum. 

He curses in his mind, but no words can escape him, only noises. So bad, so good, so.. everything. 

It throws him over the edge like this, arching, and his legs tighten around T’Challa. His eyes shine red again, soaking in the full feeling of this. The angel follows not long after, eyes golden, lips rough against one another to drown out the noise. 

He can’t help but think that he helped T’Challa sin and T’Challa disciplined him into giving up his control, something he loves so much. A nice medium, assuredly unwelcomed by their bosses on both sides of the stairs, but who cares at the moment. Feverishly, he pulls the angel close on the ruined bed. T’Challa snaps his wings out and let them cover their bodies like a blanket. Breathing slows and he is tired in his human form, so he allows the exhaustion to take over. 

He can live in heaven for a night.


End file.
